Frozen Tempest
by Kaiame
Summary: Sequel to "Like the Desert Sun" Can Wheeler find Linka?
1. Chapter 1: Ghosts and Memories

I want you all to know that I know of how just absolutely terrible I am. Worst. "BRB". Ever. But I'm back and in full force, for the record. Ignoring all of the incredible drama that happened to keep me away, I'll finish this AN with a good note. I just got a new puppy. Her name is Stella, and she's the bestest puppy ever. She's passed out on my left arm, making this difficult, but she's so freaking cute that I can't move her. Ok. Moving on.

Here is the sequel to "Like the Desert Sun." If you haven't read that, go read it. If you have….I'm sorry this took so long, but here we go.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't claim to own anything, especially belonging to CP and it's universe, from now til forever. Amen.

(Let's do this!)

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><p><strong>Frozen Tempest—Ghosts and Memories<strong>

It was the thirteen missed calls on his cell phone that let him know exactly what day it was. He was so immersed in work that he hadn't even realized what the calendar mocked him about, the only blank day in his planner. The one night of the year he wouldn't remember.

There were eight voicemails, six from Gi, one apiece from Kwame and Ma-Ti. Where Gi's grew progressively more anxious, demanding he call her back, Ma-Ti's was full of forced happiness, as if he was trying to inject Wheeler with joy over the phone. Kwame's was more hesitant, but still kept a calm about it that made Wheeler relax for just a moment. Hearing their voices talking to him in such a short span made him ache to see his friends. Or hear just one more voice…

His phone was ringing again, snapping him out of his almost-memory, and the screen notified him brightly that Gi was calling.

He kept his voice upbeat. "'Lo?"

"Jesus, Wheeler, you've had me worried sick. What are you doing?" Gi sounded frazzled.

"Finishing up some work. I'm going to get something to eat in a few. Why?"

"I'm coming into town tomorrow. It's the first flight I can get, but I'll be at the airport at 9am. So I need you to pick me up. So you need to be awake."

"Okay."

He could hear Gi's teeth clenching. "Wheeler, I'm serious! So…"

He already knew where this was going. "So what, Gi?"

"So don't go out tonight. Please. We always worry when you go out. Just because it's…today, and…today, it's just…Please don't go. It's been years, Wheeler, please! This isn't healthy. This isn't the way to cope. You just have to realize that today is today…and it'll always be today and we can't change that."

"My way of handling this isn't healthy?"He laughed mirthlessly.

"No! Wheeler, it's not!"

"What's not healthy is that you can't even say what today is on the phone. Yes, Gi, it is 'today,' but it's a lot more than that. It's when L-"

"Don't you dare bring her up. Don't even think about it. Go watch a movie. Go read a book. Do anything else, but don't dwell on this. How dare you condescend me when—"

Wheeler rolled his eyes. "Okay, Gi, I'm going now. I'll pick you up at nine. Hopefully you're in a better mood. Bye."

"No, Wheeler, wait—"

He threw the phone on his bed, shoved on his shoes, and rushed out the door into the setting sun.

_CP-CP_

Wheeler stared blankly at the bottles behind the bar. The bartender, having gone through this with him several years already, didn't bother him, didn't cut him off, didn't even wince when he walked in. Instead, she gave him a sympathetic smile, patted the bar, and pulled out three shot glasses.

"I'm experimenting with you tonight," she'd said, filling the glasses with whiskey. "I just got some new bottles in, need to figure out some new shot recipes. I know you won't complain."

"No, I won't complain."

She'd poured an additional shot and toasted him. "Thank you in advance for the absolutely amazing tip you'll be giving me tonight."

Wheeler had laughed. "But of course." They had an agreement. She would let him drink himself into the ground, and in turn, when he was too drunk to even hold a pen, she'd sign his card and add her own tip for having to put up with him.

Now, the bartender flitted behind the bar, a tornado of activity, bottle tops flying, liquor pouring with ease. She flirted and joked with her customers, but she never forgot him, sliding shots his way every time he thought he was going to panic.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to get out of his head. Where any other day of the year enough alcohol and loud music could make someone forget their name, this was not the day. As Gi so poetically put it, it was 'today.'

The day he lost Linka.

_Hands zip-tied together, her face panicked as she watched them walk into the room. Her desperate screams even over the ringing in his ears as the butts of guns sank into flesh. Her chest heaving, her lips red from where they'd ripped off the duct-tape, her brow furrowed. _

_ Plunder, in his slimy, skeezy stride walking over, telling her to drink, grabbing her face in his slick, disgusting hands. Rage boiling inside Wheeler._

_ "I'll kill you!" He launched forward, and then what he thought was the worst he would ever see happened. They pressed a gun to her head. His blood turned to ice. His stomach dropped. God, please, no…_

_ The gun turned on him, and while still terrified, his relief was powerful. It was better this way._

_ Her face was absolute terror. Her mouth opened, and tears flew down her cheeks. A cacophony of Russian spilled from her lips, and it sounded like a desperate curse. He was trying to figure it out, his brain sluggish to sounds, when he heard her agree to drink it, whatever it was._

_ "Linka, no, don't do this."_

_ She ignored him. She always ignored him. "Please, let me have the drink."_

_ "Linka, no!" He could feel himself collapsing into pieces, the very molecules of his body ripping into shreds. His heart was trying to punch a way out of his throat, and his hands clenched to rip away that drink, even as she poured it in her mouth. His body shook, trying to keep him alive, or together. "Damnit, Linka!"_

_ The change on her was immediate. Her face paled, a sheen of sweat erupted on her face. He watched her tremble like a delicate leaf. Her mouth opened slowly, as if the effort was going to kill her._

_ "Wheeler?...I….lied." And then she collapsed to the ground, seizing violently._

_ He tried to fight—it was all such a blur. Everything blurred, how they left, how they stopped him, how they kept him on lockdown on Hope Island. The only thing clear were her final words. "Wheeler? I lied." Wheeler….Wheeler…_

"Wheeler? Nope, no one by that name at this bar?" The bartender had the phone pressed to her ear, staring at him. "What's he look like again? Mhhhmm, mhhmm, okay, okay. Nope, haven't seen him but I'll keep an eye out. Yep. Yep. Alrighty, you too." She slammed the phone down and poured him another shot. "Some chick named Guy or something wants you to call her if you come in here."

"Yep."

"Girlfriend?"

"Nope."

"Huh."

"Pretty much."

"Well, you're a lot of fun. Some chicks just walked in a few minutes ago. It's one of their birthdays. Wanna be a nice guy and buy them a round?"

Someone actually was born on this hellish day? They deserved a drink. He nodded.

"Ladies! Come here. This lovely gentleman is going to get you a round for your birthday."

The three girls giggled over and called out their drink orders. Wheeler took his without looking over, raised it in a birthday cheer, downing the shot with a murmured "Happy birthday." The birthday girl neared him and held out her hand.

The room was a little fuzzy, and he stared at the hand a moment before taking it and shaking it.

"Thank you for the drinks," the girl said, and Wheeler's head shot up.

Blonde hair. Green eyes. Delicate skin and a slightly mischievous brow. Perfect lips, angular face. And she had an accent.

"What's your name?"

"Natasha, nice to meet you. And you?"

"Wheeler," he breathed. She slightly winced.

"What a strange name. Very Yankee."

"…What did you just say?"

She flushed. "I am sorry. I did not mean to offend you. It is just, your name, it is very unsusual."

"We're in New York. There's tons of Yankees around. Our baseball team is named after them. Do I look like a baseball player? I'm just confused as to where or why you used that word." He was having trouble breathing.

She frowned, not at all weirded out by his freaking out. "I do not know. It just…came out of my mouth."

"Lin—Natasha, if you don't mind me asking, what's your last name. With your accent and all, it's got to be something fantastic. Where are you from, by the way?"

"Somewhere in the Soviet Union, that is all my mother would say. I am adopted, so my last name is very American."

"What is it?" he asked a little too quickly, and she shied away. "I mean, how bad can it be, right?"

She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "You are very interesting, Wheeler. It is Blight. My last name is Blight."

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><p>Ending on that note, have to go to work! I'll be back for more, I swear!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2: Crazed and Dazed

My Stella just learned spent the last 30 minutes perfecting her understanding of the word "Wait." I cannot be more proud.

My night at work was interesting. I was crazy-slammed, screw ups thanks to the universe all around, and at one point, my boss was running around in his underwear telling everyone he'd wear my ass as a crown. Also, I met someone I knew at a previous job five years ago, got told by another dude that "one of these days (I'll) kiss you goodnight for real," and I punched yet another dude in the face for grabbing at me 'inappropriately.' (Pre-boss-in-boxers, but he still had my back) All in all, not a bad night. So, now, I continue on! Thank you to my one reviewer (I'm posting this within 12 hours so I don't even feel bad) **D3MON KN1GHT**. You're awesome.

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><p>Frozen Tempest—Crazed and Dazed<p>

"I'm telling you, Gi, it's her."

Gi rubbed her brow in the passenger seat, silent. Stuck as they were in mid-morning rush hour, she had no other choice but to listen to him, and he knew it. After sharing his incredulous story at baggage claim, she hadn't said a word.

"Gi."

She sighed.

"Gi!"

"I heard you for the tenth time already."

"Well?" He was impatient, with the traffic as well as her silence.

"Well what, Wheeler? I don't think it's her."

"Blight, Gi, Blight. Natasha Blight? Her 'birthday' is on the same day Linka….She looks like her. She talks like her. Just older."

"I think you're seeing coincidences that aren't there. She could have said any name."

"What rhymes with Blight, Gi?" Wheeler inched forward, annoyed.

"Wright. Knight. Sleight. Bright. Might. Kite. Sight. Fright. Fight. Height. Light. Tight."

"Most of those aren't even names."

Gi clenched her hair in her hands. "It doesn't matter! I just think you're looking too far into this. How many blonde Russian-like girls can there be in New York? How many of them adopted? TONS!"

"But, Gi. You didn't see her."

Gi's head spun so fast all he saw was a blur. "Wheeler, listen to yourself. I don't have to see her! She was my best friend, and I loved her just as much as you, as any of us, if not more. I gave up on that psychotic dream a long time ago. Don't you dare give me false hope. Don't even try. Talk about something different, please!"

Through gritted teeth, Wheeler said, "How was your flight?"

"Fine…something else that rhymes with 'Blight' though-flight."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay at my place?"

"The hotel's already paid for."

"Is it nice?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Jesus, Gi. If you're not going to say anything, what was the point of changing the topic."

"Wheeler, I love you, but shut up."

He sat in silence for a few moments, creeping along to their exit. Finally, before his head exploded, he opened his mouth.

"She has my number. She might call me."

Gi glared at him.

"I'm serious. I gave her my number on the premise if she wants to go out sometime. She might call me. She seemed interested in me—"

"You think _all_ girls are interested in you," Gi snorted.

"Because they are doesn't mean you need to be jealous of my awesome prowess. She'll call me. I bet on it."

Gi lightly popped her hand against Wheeler's smug smile. "Are you ever not arrogant?"

"If the day isn't your 'today,' then no. 364, baby, 24/7"

Gi shook her head, hiding laughter. "You're buying me lunch for that comment."

"I figured. Before I even said it."

_CP-CP_

It was late. Very late. He'd not been asleep in over a day, but he was up, his mind racing. The TV was on, mindless chatter in the background as he stared at the city lights past his window, the monotonous flow of cars and random flickering of streetlamps the perfect offset to his meditation-of-sorts.

His reprieve was broken by the buzzing of his phone by his thigh. It was an unknown number, something he normally didn't answer, especially at this hour, but his distracted thoughts had his fingers on autopilot, and he answered the call without really knowing what he was doing.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Hello?"

This was exactly the reason he didn't answer these types of calls. He didn't need pranks, especially at this hour.

"Hello."

"Wheeler?"

The voice caught him off guard, hitting him like a boulder. Through the phone, he was transported years back, and his teenage self ached to blaze to life.

"Yeah," he said, squelching the sudden surge of adrenaline plowing through his veins. "It's me."

"This is Natasha."

"Hi."

There was an extended pause.

"You…you are very…I find you very interesting. Would you like to meet me for drinks sometime?"

"Yes." He could barely contain his excitement. She was asking him out.

"Wheeler?" her voice was breathy.

"Yes?"

This pause lasted longer—decades longer. He thought he'd lost signal until she said, "You terrify me."

The statement took him aback, the implications not even beginning to form in his head. "Why?"

"I do not know."

"Why did you tell me that?" He was on edge, curious now more than anticipating.

"I do not know."

"Then why did you ask me out?"

He could almost hear her on the other end, suffering over his question. "I do not know. Meet me at the Martini Bar tomorrow at seven." The phone clicked silent.

Wheeler sat the phone down, head in his hands, half-anticipating meeting his maybe-Linka tomorrow, half confused at what she meant at all.

But no. It was her. It had to be her.

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><p>Love you. Told you I'm back and full force! I'm sorry these are so conversational-ly. They're going to get better, I swear it! I just have to get past the initial….initial. You know what I'm saying!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3: The Date

Someone suggested Justin Bieber as a candidate for Wheeler in the upcoming live action CP film. I wept. No. Just…no.

Many thanks to my reviewers **debbie81 **and of course, **OzQueene**! 3's all around.

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><p><strong>Frozen Tempest—The Date<strong>

He couldn't help but stare. If this wasn't his Linka that walked in the bar, he was a monkey's uncle (Suichi didn't count.) The flowing, breezy skirt that emphasized her long legs. The knit top that left enough to the imagination but still kept it firing. The blonde hair in the high ponytail. The way she had no idea ever man in the room was staring. The way those familiar green eyes scanned the room, calculating, until she found his face.

It had to be her.

He'd already rationalized this date into a plan. He was unaware why she didn't recognize him, or was pretending not to do so. So he'd play it cool, keep it up like it was a normal date, until he could figure it out. But this was his Linka, and with the exception of Gi, he knew her better than any person on this planet. He could figure this out. He was always confident, and nothing could change this.

"Hello," she said, sitting next to him at the bar. Her hands smoothed her skirt nervously, but her face and tone remained calm.

"Hey. You look great!"

"Thank you. As do you."

"Can I get you a drink?"

He bought her a vodka tonic, a drink that surprised him. Not the vodka part, but the fact that it was such a serious drink in his mind. Nothing fruity or fun…he was overanalyzing. It's just a drink.

"How was your day?" he tried, inwardly groaning at the lameness of this question.

"It was busy. Work had me very busy."

"And what do you do?"

She hesitated here. Her mouth opened, but the words caught in the back of her throat. Her fingertips drummed together and her eyes went cold. She blinked, some animation flowing back into her face. "I work for the nuclear industry. I am a liaison between Russia and the United States. "

Wheeler bit his lip. That was unexpected. "That's…interesting."

A mechanical smile flashed across her face. "It is a job, and it pays me good money. You? What is it that you do?"

"I have a rather interesting job. It involves research. Persuasion. I convince people to go a certain direction instead of another based upon facts. I also dabble in inner-city development."

"So you are a lawyer?" The question was polite, not too curious, but she was confusing him. Her face and tone still remained as calm as ever, but in between sips, she was swirling her straw around in her drink.

"Of sorts, yes."

She didn't respond. Instead, she stared at him with a bland sort of intensity. The look itself was nonthreatening, but her eyes systematically traced his face, as if scanning and storing it inch by inch.

He forced polite conversation a little longer. They discussed sports (she was an avid fan of soccer, tennis, and the Olympics), television shows (dramas—she loved dramas), and the strange turn teenagers and young adults were taking ("They are so diverse! Where one will have pink hair and a ring everywhere, one will be dressed as if she were in the 1960s!") All the while, her she kept an attitude of cool detachment, while her body language subtly belied her calm face and soothing voice. Before he knew it, an hour had passed, and an alarm on her phone was beeping loudly.

"Do you need to get that?" he asked, crestfallen that this had lasted so briefly. He wanted to stay. She was a puzzle he couldn't figure out, and it was burning him alive to solve it. "If not," he added, "I'd be more than happy to take you to dinner."

She stared at her phone, letting it beep, her thumbnail in her mouth. With this simple move, he could see Linka, his Linka, pouring over the landscape in the Geo-Cruiser, looking for the best place to land. With their faces super-imposed in his head, he could see subtle differences. Where the old Linka was fuller in the face, this one had slimmed down all evidence of baby fat. Where the old Linka was more animated, more flushed with excitement beneath tanned skin, this one was ice-cold, with a pallor that suggested not so much sun had crossed her recently.

She looked up suddenly, her eyes faintly sparking with his old Linka. "Da. Dinner sounds great."

_CP-CP_

She was coming more to life as the night wore on.

Slowly, very slowly, her eyes came to life. The nervous fidget in her hands stopped. Her posture relaxed, and by the time they were halfway through dinner, none of the conversation was forced anymore.

"Yuck," she said, a bite of steak halfway to her mouth. She stared with revulsion at the man the table next to them. Gravy was smeared across his cheek, and mashed potatoes clung to his fingertips. "He was raised by wild animals, nyet?"

Wheeler glanced over and snorted at the sight. "No. No, of course not. That's how everyone eats this way, didn't you know?" He shoved an entire roll in his mouth followed by a scoop of his potatoes-au-gratin. "See?"

She stared at him wide-eyed.

Unfortunately, that was the moment the man decided to look over. Full mouthed and a little full of embarrassment , Wheeler waved. "Hi!" The man just stared.

She erupted into giggles beneath her napkin. "You have been bustered."

"Busted," he corrected, forcing a swallow down.

She waved him off dismissively. "However it is said." She sipped her water, and without looking at him, said, "You should really eat your vegetables."

_"You have to eat all the vegetables on the sandwich."_

_ "I'll even give you one better…I'll even like it._"

He didn't know what to say, how to react. Memories threatened to overwhelm him on the spot. So he did the best he knew how to. He changed the subject.

"If you don't mind me asking, what was that alarm about earlier? You on a curfew?"

She shook her head, her bangs covering her eyes. "Nyet. I get very bad headaches. To keep them from happening, I must take my medication. That was just a reminder to do so. But this is much more fun. I will take it when I get back."

She took another sip of water. "Wheeler…" she flinched, and grabbed her purse, digging. "Speak of the Satan." She waved her hand dismissively at him, pulling out a bottle of aspirin. "I will be fine. So, Wheeler, what is it that you do for fun."

"Wanna go to Times Square?"

_CP-CP_

She laughed gloriously as a random assortment of street actors performed slapstick. Wheeler was glad she was distracted. He could stare, soak her up, live for just five minutes in a world that didn't echo of darkness. She threw a dollar in the jar of the man duplicating the Sistine Chapel on the sidewalk. She clapped and giggled as a monkey tried to teach her how to dance.

"My friend once had a monkey," he said smoothly as they walked away.

"Did he? And what was this monkey's name?"

"Does it have to have a name?"

She stopped and turned on him, looking perfectly indignant. "Of course it must have a name. Who does not name a pet?"

"Suichi."

She frowned. "What a strange name."

Wheeler pressed on. "If you think that's strange, his owner, my friend? His name was Ma-Ti."

"Ma…" A hand went to her head. "That is unusual, da."

"Are you alright?" The color was quickly rushing out of her face.

"Da, I am. It is just this headache. I am sorry. I am having a very nice time."

"No, no, it's fine. Do you need to go home?"

She looked at him, uneasy. "Would that offend you?"

"Of course not! Here, I'll flag you a cab."

She sat on a bus bench, head in her hands, as he waited for a free cab. "I had a nice time, tonight, Natasha. I'd like to do this again, if that's ok."

She looked up with a small smile. "Da. That would be nice. You…you are very interesting. I want to figure you out."

"What does that mean?"

A frown furrowed her brow. "I do not know. I did not mean to offend. I cannot think straight!" She breathed deep, her hands clutching her head.

The cab pulled up and Wheeler handed the cabbie a fist full of money. "Make sure she gets home safe," he said. He helped her in, and she graced his cheek with a kiss.

"Thank you, Wheeler. We will do this again."

The door shut. He watched his Linka drive off.

The fear of watching the taillights disappear was equal to the joy that she wanted to see him again.

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><p>Ok lovebirds. I have so many ideas. So, so, so many. *insert evil laugh here*<br>Just kidding. (I'm really not)

Until next time :D


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